Bull's-Eye (Book 2 of the Finn Hartman Chronicles)
by EnchantedNuns
Summary: [Sequel to "The Writing Games"! Read that one first!] ***"There is no God anymore," I respond, "only war."*** After Finn Hartman won the 74th Hunger Games and blew up the Training Center in the Capitol, war ensued in Panem. The districts rioted, the Peacekeepers were forced to retreat and the Capitol closed ranks. Meanwhile, the Bene Gesserit and District 13 rose from the ashes.
1. Prologue

**A.N.: Sequel to "The Writing Games"! Read that one first! Cover by MadiKuma on Wattpad**

 _***"There is no God anymore," I respond, "only war."***_

After Finn Hartman won the 74th Hunger Games and blew up the Training Center in the Capitol, war ensued in Panem. The districts rioted, the Peacekeepers were forced to retreat and the Capitol closed ranks. In the midst of all this, two hardened powerhouses rose again: the Bene Gesserit and District 13.

Finn Hartman, the last Hunger Games Victor, the new High Priest of the Cult and the first Reverend Mother since the Dark Days, struggles to control the different aspects of his unique position. Holly Jones, Finn's district partner during the Games and his best friend, on the other hand, tries to combine her role as 'The Girl who Lived' in Finn's new and fanatical religion with her duties to the war effort.

On the other side of the fence, President Snow has to lock horns with Finn's United Army and grapples to maintain his hold on the Capitol. Most of all, he wishes Finn dead and his wish is the Assassin's command.


	2. Not a Moment's Rest

**A.N.: Thank you MadiKuma on Wattpad for creating the amazing cover for this story! Also, thanks to whoever followed the previous book. I hope I'll be able to live up to that one's standards!**

Rolling hills, quiet streams, rustling leaves. The view here is breath-taking and the land seems so peaceful. It's difficult to believe that if I turn around and face District 6 again, I'll see a country ravaged by war. It's better not to think about it. After all, I come out here on this hill to enjoy the serenity of the forest and the view, and not to remind myself of all the tribulations of war.

Last year, I was sent into the Hunger Games and my district partner and I won, but we forced the Capitol's hand. They were disconcerted, to say the least. However, I had been a nuisance to the Gamemakers from the moment I was reaped. I was cocky and defied the status quo, I rallied the districts during my interview and started riots, I spoke with the voice of religion and struck down the Training Center.

Well, 'struck down'... At my final interview, I gave a signal to blow up the tall, glass skyscraper, which the districts interpreted as divine intervention. It helped start a revolution, so who am I to tell them otherwise? Either way, the districts expelled Capitol-minded Peacekeepers from their territories and war ensued.

Now I close my eyes, take a deep breath and bask in the warmth of the sun as its light caresses my skin. I hear mockingjays chirping their whistle-tone songs, a breeze stirring the branches of stern pine trees, and a creek steadily gushing through the forest. War has not penetrated here...yet.

During peaceful moments like this, I always remember the hunting trips Ian and I made when we both had spare time. Ian would take his wood-cut bow and shoot a few quails or squirrels, while I was content watching him, enjoying the uninhibited time we spent together. After he had shot some game, he used to lead me up this hill and show me the view, and then we would make love in the grass.

 _Oh Ian, which cruel fate decided to reap you one year before me?_ I sigh mentally. Ian was my boyfriend, my best friend and my soulmate. I will not rest until the people responsible for his death have paid the ultimate price!

 _The boy who killed him did_ , Mother reminds me in my thoughts. One year after my Agony in the arena, I can still talk to my female ancestors in my mind and access their memories. When Tracker Jackers and a neurotoxic Atlas moth stung me, I neutralised their venoms, which unlocked my Other Memory and turned me into the first Reverend Mother since the Dark Days.

 _That boy merely followed the rules of the Hunger Games and those Games were institutionalised by..._ I linger.

 _The Capitol_ , Mother sighs. _Your duty as a Cult tribute was to win the Hunger Games, thus starting a revolution, but avenging your lover is not part of your job._

For several centuries, my family has been a member of an underground, religious society. Before the Dark Days, it was called the Sisterhood of the Bene Gesserit, but a nuclear disaster forced our Order into hiding, so we changed our name to the Cult. Yet our downfall gave way for the Capitol's tyranny, so we swore to overthrow it and restore the Bene Gesserit to its former glory.

 _You're right, avenging his death is not part of my job,_ I agree. _I'll do that for free._

The mockingjays suddenly cease their chirping song and the faint sound of engines billows towards me. Leaves and branches rustle in the gusts of wind caused by an approaching hovercraft. A giant, sloppily painted 6 on its port side glints in the sunlight.

My raven woollen cloak flaps wildly in the engine-generated draught as the hovercraft nears me in its descent. The airship steers around, so its metal behind faces me and its rear cargo hatch opens. A 37-year-old woman with copper skin and long, sleek, black hair holds onto a flashy yellow bar on one side of the hatch. It's my mother.

"Finn!" she shouts above the roar of the engines. "The council requires your permission!"

 _Of course it does. It even requires my permission to fart_ , I think bitterly, but to my mother I holler in response:

"Can the councillors not handle it themselves?"

"No, they say it's urgent," she answers. _Farts are urgent too._

 _You wanted to be kept in the loop on the war effort, so you can't back away from that responsibility now_ , Embry Call reminds me. Embry is the fourth Bene Gesserit of my line, but the strongest one. She was also the first ancestor to speak to me and she gave me the low-down on Other Memory and Reverend Mothers.

 _Fine_ , I grumble. I take a run-up before I leap into the hovercraft and smoothly cross the distance between it and the hill. Mother catches me by the shoulder and ushers me in the ship as she presses a button to close the rear hatch. Once sealed, the hovercraft lifts off and whizzes over the calm forest.

Mother squeezes into one of the cramp metal seats of the hull and straps in. She then watches me attentively as I follow suit. When I'm safely seated across from her, she takes out a clipboard and informs me on the concerns of the council:

"First matter of the day, the introduction of new courses into the Sisterhood's curriculum."

I sigh. "What upsets the council about my new courses this time around?"

Shortly after I returned, I campaigned the High Priestess and her council to reform the Cult back to its Bene Gesserit roots. In awe of my abilities as Reverend Mother, they happily obliged at the time and new public Bene Gesserit schools were erected, but when my reforms endured, the Raptor and her hens started complaining.

In their opinion, I was changing too much too rapidly. They claimed that my new colour-coded cloaks encouraged exclusion and degraded the equality amongst our members, that many Bene Gesserit axioms contradicted the Cult's current policy, and that my new courses were too demanding. Their biggest concern, however, was the massive enrollment of new members who had no Cult background whatsoever.

"Your sexist policy for one," Mother responds. "You're excluding male members from all of these courses. The council argues that we need as many highly-trained members as we can get, so beggars can't be choosers during war."

"My new courses would provide men with tools which they could use to overthrow our Order once more. I'm not going to train them just so they can undo all I have achieved after one generation. The Bene Gesserit understood men's thirst for war and power and used men for three purposes only."

"As an army, a workforce and mates," Mother rambles off. "I know, you've told me several times before, but the council doesn't consider it a valid argument."

 _More like the Raptor doesn't consider it a valid argument_ , I grumble internally. The High Priestess has been thwarting my reforms from the start, probably because I threw her strategies in her face during the Games.

"What are the council's", _read 'the Raptor's'_ , "other counterarguments?"

"You," Mother chuckles. "You're male, yet you are the one drafting these courses. They say you're being awfully hypocritical."

 _Talk about the pot calling the kettle black._ "'I' could hardly be considered a counterargument; I'm the exception that proves the rule."

"Tell them that," she gazes down at her clipboard and flicks a page, "Second matter, fights have been occurring between novices at the new Bene Gesserit schools. Mostly altercations between female Cult members and new Sisters."

"Mmm, that's more troubling. How bad are the fights?"

"So far only verbal accusations and mild physical violence..."

"Mild physical violence? What? Are they pulling each other's ponytails?" I scoff.

"No," Mother's lips form a hard line, "They have been known to scratch, kick and hit each other, but some have also been ganged up on. A new Sister even got a broken arm."

My eyes widen. "This is more grievous than I thought. I'll deal with it personally, but later on. The other matters of the day?"

As our hovercraft flies over District 6 townships, Mother brings me up to speed. Firstly, the districts under our control have been building churches in the Great Mother's honour, while they should be labouring in factories to aid the war effort. Secondly, Cult spies in the Capitol fear for their lives and request refuge in the districts. Thirdly, our researchers have found a drug they think will create new Reverend Mothers, but they'll delay testing it until I'm present.

"Oh, and Anthony wishes to speak to you as well," Mother adds pleasantly. "He said he'd meet you at the Justice Building."

"Oh, did he?" I mutter with an edge of suspicion to my voice. I'm not so much suspicious towards Anthony, but towards the way my mother says his name: with a frivolous leap.

Since the war started, Mother and Anthony have been spending a great deal of time together, consulting each other and discussing the latest reports. It has also come to my attention that my former Hunger Games mentor has been frequenting my mother's house.

 _I told you I like a man I can climb_ , Mother's teenage self giggles in my mind. I ignore her and her adult incarnation before me and observe District 6 as our hovercraft descends on the Justice Building.

Several new Sisters stroll across town square in their billowing white cloaks while a Cult member in a black cloak trails behind them. Leaving the Justice Building, grey-cloaked novices stride down the worn steps. I have yet to spot an experienced Sister in a black cloak embroidered with white thread when our hovercraft lands on the roof of the Justice Building.

Mother and I quickly exit through the rear cargo hatch before the airship departs again. As it disappears from our line of sight, Anthony lumbers onto the rooftop.

"I thought I heard a hovercraft. Did you have a nice flight?" he smiles, but his green gaze is directed at my mother.

"Quite, but it could have been better in a way or two," she ogles him top to toe. _Please, someone hand me a bucket!_

"Anthony!" I interrupt their flirting. "Mother said you wished to speak with me?"

"Ah, yes. It's about the front line of District 7."

Since I thrust Anthony's judgment and he has enough experience as a mentor, I appointed him as general of the United Army, the joined armed forces of the freed districts. So far he has been doing a fine job on the front line, but there are always tactical issues he needs to discuss with me.

"Very well, you can tell me on the way to the conference room."

We make our way down from the rooftop and pass through several corridors, which are modest at best. Their walls are hung with pictures from Mayors and Presidents long forgotten and their floors carpeted with a frail fabric that would have passed for red about 50 years ago. When the walls or floors aren't covered with pictures or carpets, dust moots make for a good alternative. As we walk, Anthony makes his plea:

"Although our infantry were able to seize the outskirts of District 7, we're faced with difficulties at the city centre. The Peacekeepers have barricaded it with a wall of logs sixteen feet high and almost ten feet thick. Lumber machinery has been placed in front of it too as an extra barrier.

Whenever our soldiers try to charge it, they get blown to pieces by Peacekeepers from behind and on top of it. We've tried cutting our way through it, but that makes too much noise, which alarms the Peacekeepers and ends in a massacre too. We also tried to take control of some of the machinery, but no one knows how to operate them."

"Have you tried using bombs or grenades?" I ask as we turn left into a new corridor.

"We have. They have snipers on the rooftops and on the wall as well, so they shoot anyone who even attempts to throw a grenade or approach the wall."

"Well, what do you propose we do about this situation?"

"I think we need to launch an aerial attack. We need hovercrafts, Finn," he urges in his deep bass voice, which probably turns my mother on.

I stop and sigh. "I wished I could send out an entire squadron of them, but the Peacekeepers left us only one functioning hovercraft and it's the one that just dropped us off. Mechanics are working their butts off trying to repair the others and to build new ones, but only a handful of people know the ins and outs of them."

We start walking again, but Anthony isn't ready to give up yet.

"There's another option!" he claims hopefully.

"Which would be...?"

"District 13."

I come to a full stop and turn around. I aim my golden gaze at Anthony's 6-feet figure and narrow my eyes at him.

"What about District 13?" I ask suspiciously.

"They have a mobilised air force and possess the know-how to build hovercrafts. You've seen the reports and pictures I've sent you."

That I did. District 13 was once part of Panem and responsible for graphite mining, but was thought to have been wiped out after the First Rebellion. It turned out they were also responsible for the Capitol's nuclear program and had threatened to nuke the Capitol if it didn't leave them alone. The Capitol backed off, but now that the districts have rebelled once again, District 13 literally rose form the ashes.

I spin around and continue walking. Mother and Anthony follow.

"I know of District 13's humanitarian aid, yes," I grumble. "We start a war and suffer tremendous losses, and POOF, District 13 swoops in to rescue us with their blankets, food and water. I find that fishy to say the least."

"They want to help," Anthony offers.

"No, they hope the Capitol and the districts will destroy each other in another rebellion, so they can mend the pieces and claim Panem for themselves," I sigh, "On the other hand, we badly need those hovercrafts. Fine, I'll arrange a meeting with their leader, but don't get your hopes up!"

"A meeting is all I ask for," he raises his eye-brows meaningfully at my mother before falling back as she and I enter the conference room. _Let's hope I can deal with the Raptor and her hens as easily as with Anthony._


	3. Transitioning

The conference room is decorated in the same vein as the corridors of the Justice Building: a tattered would-be red carpet on the floor and a picture of Marcus Jones, District 6's current mayor, on the back wall. At the centre of the room stands a large, oval, mahogany table, surrounded by the Raptor and her four hens.

When the war started, the toughest fights broke out in District 2, where the High Priestess lives in her mansion. Yet instead of aiding the rebels against the Peacekeepers' superior numbers, the Raptor fled and came crawling to District 6. _The coward!_ Her four hens soon followed from their respective districts.

"Well, well, it seems that the Reverend Mother has graced us with his presence," the High Priestess smirks. Fragile and small like a blackbird, the Raptor is swaddled in her raven woollen cloak. Her eagle's nose and vulture's posture are as bent as ever, but her wrinkles seem to have tripled since I first met her right after my Reaping.

On each side of her sits a pair of equally wrinkly, old crones. Whereas the Raptor looks like a crow in human form, her four councillors look like a collection of barn animals, so I call them as such. The Raptor's hens include Duck, Chicken, Goose and Turkey. Duck and Goose sit to the Raptor's left, and Chicken and Turkey to her right.

"What did you say?" Goose croaks. White-haired and 87 years old, Goose is the oldest councillor, but unfortunately, she's as deaf as a doorpost, which makes her about as useful as a flashlight on a sunny day. However, a life in District 12 – one of three districts under the United Army's control – made her as tough as nails.

"Finn Hartman has entered the room," Duck shouts. "Not that I could tell."

While Goose is deaf, Duck is as blind as a bat, but equally as white-haired as Goose and the Raptor. All the war council still really needs is a mute to complete our set of three wise monkeys. Or old birds, whatever you prefer. Anyway, Duck lost her sight in a tragic automatic loom accident in District 8.

"Good day, council," I greet them. "Apparently, you seem to have problems with the Sisterhood's new curriculum."

"What did he say?" Goose squawks. As Duck shouts my words to Goose, the Raptor and I roll our eyes. Mother and I then seat ourselves on two cherry-wood chairs at the other end of the oval table.

"So, what troubles you about the new courses for the Bene Gesserit?" I ask.

"They reek of inequality!" exclaims Turkey, throwing her right arm in the air, jingling her numerous bracelets. Red-faced and equipped with pebbly jowls, Turkey lives up to her nickname. It's really a perfect fit considering she wears outfits so flamboyant they could even make Capitol citizens jealous!

"How so?" I fake ignorance.

"As a requirement, you noted that participants have to be female. This is sexism! Why do you exclude men from these courses?" she demands as she brushes a lock of ginger hair out of her face with a jeweled hand. Originating from District 1, Turkey has garnered a bedazzling collection of gems, earrings, rings, bracelets, anklets, necklaces and countless other priceless accessories.

Embry snorts in my thoughts. _Where has the Bene Gesserit's frugality gone? The only thing that distinguishes her as a Cult member is her black cloak and even that one is silk and not wool!_

 _And then they dare call me a hypocrite_ , I snicker cynically. I sigh and deliver the council the same speech I gave Mother on the hovercraft, ending with:

"...As an army, a workforce and mates."

"As slaves," the Raptor deduces darkly. Her eagle's eyes have a ferocious glint as she stares at me. _Careful now!_

I clear my throat to buy me some time before I reply. "They're only slaves if you treat them that way, although I won't deny that in the society of the Bene Gesserit men were nothing more than second-rate citizens. That's why we have an opportunity now to right their wrongs."

"So let's include men in those new courses then!" the Raptor throws her arms in the air exasperatedly.

"If we do, we might as well surrender to President Snow now," I growl. That takes the other councillors aback.

 _You'll catch more flies with honey than vinegar, Finn_ , Embry tells me. _A good negotiator knows when to compromise._

I sigh. "As much as I am opposed to men in the new Bene Gesserit, we do need highly trained soldiers. I propose to allow men to learn the Weirding Way and the Missionaria Protectiva, but the Voice is off limits!"

"If only we knew what those courses entailed," Duck scoffs. _I had hoped you wouldn't ask._

"We can discuss details later, but I think we can all agree that this is a good compromise," Mother intervenes. The Raptor and her hens eye one another (except blind Goose) and nod in agreement. I've never been more grateful for my mother's interruptions.

The other matters on the agenda are discussed more or less the same way as the new courses, with objections mainly of the High Priestess, but when Mother announces the new drug which might create other Reverend Mothers, the Raptor and her hens bristle. Suddenly, they're dead against new Reverend Mothers.

"Do we really need more Reverend Mothers? The Cult has survived just fine without them," Chicken boasts. Chicken is a 63-year-old, grey-haired and teak-skinned plantation worker from District 11 who has about as many children as there are districts and who is as fat as a beached whale.

I slam my fist on the mahogany table. "We need Reverend Mothers!"

"Why? So they may dictate our lives? If that's the case, we're just trading one tyrant for another," she nods, sending ripples through her many chins.

 _No, so they may rid our Order of your corruption_ , I had loved to retort, but Chicken can't help the way the Cult turned out. Without Reverend Mothers or ways to create them, the Bene Gesserit plowed through the Dark Days without proper guidance. As a result, the Cult lost sight of some of its key values.

By now my council is so corrupt that if I threw a sack of Tesserae on the table, they'd claw each other's eyes out to claim it. I do wonder who would win. My money is on Turkey; she might be able to throw a mean punch with those jeweled fists of hers.

"She's right. The only person insisting on new Reverend Mothers is you, Finn, and you're one yourself. Why are we to trust your judgment?" the Raptor asks, but I can see sparks of delight in her crow's eyes.

"Because without Reverend Mothers the Cult will only evolve into a new Capitol. _Then_ we'll be trading one tyrant for another," I glare at Chicken, who flinches away from my golden gaze.

"Says you," the High Priestess fires back. _You're playing a dangerous game here, Raptor. You would be wise to remember I already won the most dangerous game in the world._

"Says the only person in Panem with access to knowledge beyond the ages. Council, are you really willing to cast aside the opportunity of the century just because you're afraid of change?"

The councillors eye one another again, but then they glance at the High Priestess, whose vulture's stare leaves no question about who makes the final decision. Perhaps it's time I end the Raptor's reign.

"Let's put this to the vote," she decides. _Let's!_

"Fine, if we first put your resignation to the vote."

Mother and the four hens gasp, even the Raptor herself is dumbfounded. Yet she recovers with a quizzical look on her face.

"You have no reasonable grounds to ask me to resign," she laughs.

"Don't I?" I smirk and now her smile vanishes. "Councillors, think back six years, to when you chose me for last year's Hunger Games. Now, if I'm not mistaken, our dear High Priestess' granddaughter was also a possible candidate that year, was she not?"

At the age of thirteen, Cult members from across Panem gather at the Raptor's mansion to be selected as Cult tribute for the Hunger Games five years later. My mother and I were chosen as the best of our respective generations that way, but Mother became pregnant six months before her Games, which is why she groomed me as her 'replacement'.

"I also remember that the High Priestess' granddaughter was excelling at every task you put in front of her. Her marks often, if not mostly, exceeded my own. Yet I was chosen that year and not her. How come?"

The four councillors ponder that question, while sweat starts to pearl on the Raptor's forehead and Mother observes the meeting with avid fascination. Eventually, Chicken asks:

"What are you suggesting?"

"That the High Priestess abused her position to spare her granddaughter's life, while she sent me off to the Hunger Games. She let her emotions get the better of her and put her own interests before the greater good."

"That's a grave accusation, Finn Hartman," Duck declares. "Do you have proof of this?"

"Yes," I turn to the Raptor, "her granddaughter told me so herself upon my return from the Capitol. She was in tears and begged me for forgiveness for her grandmother's crime."

The High Priestess moans a tormented groan as she lowers her head and clenches her fists. She knows she has lost.

"Very well," Duck nods. "The council hereby removes Lynna Wesley from her position as High Priestess of the Cult. From here on until the day she dies, she will speak to no one of the secrets discussed during council meetings, lest she wishes to have her tongue cut out." _A mute at last!_

The Raptor – Lynna Wesley – slumps into her chair, silently trembling in anger. She then quietly leaves the conference room, her raven cloak trailing behind her.

"What just happened?" Goose caws. I roll my eyes again before Turkey addresses the council:

"But who will be the new High Priestess of the Cult?"

 _I thought you'd never ask._ "In the days of the Bene Gesserit, the _Reverend Mothers_ chose their leaders amongst their equals."

The council nods at my stress on 'Reverend Mothers'. Turkey and Chicken turn to Duck.

"The council hereby appoints Finn Hartman as High Priest of the Cult. May the Great Mother guide him justly!" Duck proclaims.

"May the Great Mother guide him justly!" Turkey, Chicken and Mother repeat while Goose dozes off.

When the council meeting has ended, Mother accompanies me down the Justice Building. The air between us is brimming with unspoken grievances.

"Mother, I feel your mood darkening. Do you have something to say?"

" _We never openly seize power,_ you wrote down as a new axiom for the Sisterhood. Yet you just usurped the Cult and you're leading a rebellion too. In what way do these not equal openly seizing power?"

"If you're worried I'm power-hungry, you don't have to be, Mother, although I appreciate your concern," I turn to her, "The position of High Priest will offer the districts a less confusing name for me than Reverend Mother, but I don't intend to lead the Cult indefinitely. When the war is over, the post of High Priest will die out with me and a triumvirate of real Reverend Mothers will govern the Sisterhood."

"So this is just a transitioning stage?" she asks in a baffled tone.

"It is. If you'll excuse me, there's someone I need to visit to help me even more with this transition."


	4. The Girl Who Lived

****A.N.:**** **This chapter was written by PotterOwl** **on Wattpad.**

 **POV Holly Jones**

I sit on my living room couch sipping on my glass of hot chocolate. Other than the grumble of the television the house is completely silent. Nothing was out of the ordinary, other than the fact that the world around me had been plunged into war that is. But in my home in the Victor's village, I am away from it all.

After the Games, Finn and I got to tour the districts on what the Capitol calls a victory tour. We got to tell the districts how great it was to murder their children, but in a more subtle manner. Media and paparazzi followed Finn and I around upon our return. They had named me 'The Girl Who Lived' and turned Finn and I into icons throughout Panem.

After the Capitol brought more and more of the media back to the Capitol, I stayed more reserved. I have spent most of my time in my home. Being exposed to Panem throughout the Games and for months after really made me never want to see a camera again, especially one from the Capitol.

My head turns to the television, which is once again showing footage of the war. The Capitol News channel is constantly showing clips of the destruction and riots that were supposedly brought on by the Cult and the rebels. The footage would be astounding and would turn me away from the rebel cause, but I know what is really going on. The Capitol brought on every single one of these fights and has been killing children for 75 years; and now, they are trying to turn everyone against the growing rebel forces to cover their tracks.

As the television shows a crumbling building, I hear a knock at the door. I switch the TV off before going and opening the door. Standing there in front of the door with his golden eyes and signature cloak was non other than my fellow Victor and friend, Finn Hartman.

"Come on in, Finn," I say as I pull the door open more.

He walks into the family room. "Hello Holly! How do you do?"

I go and sit in the chair across from where he stands. "Hello Finn. I'm doing fine. How are you?"

"As good as one can be during war. I hope I'm not disturbing?" He seems to change the subject, which tells me that something important is on his mind.

I shake my head slightly. "Oh, not at all. I've always got time to talk. I mean," I smile before continuing, "you saved my life numerous times, it's the least I could do."

Finn chuckles. "I seem to recall several instances in which you saved my life as well, so that would make us even. May I sit?"

I am drawn out of the conversation and notice that Finn is still standing. How could I have not asked him to sit earlier?

"Go ahead, make yourself at home. What brings you over here? I'm assuming you're quite busy trying to organize a war and bring down the Capitol."

Finn sits down, nicely draping his cloak around himself. "I wish it were the Capitol that kept me so busy. But no, I've been busier with the High Priestess and her quarrels."

"I get that she is the leader of your Cult and all, but do you still have to answer to her? You're the one who tore down the Training Center and won the Hunger Games." In the past, the famous icons were the ones in control and got to run things the way they wanted.

"Oh, after this morning I don't have to worry about her anymore," he grins his usual cocky grin, "You're looking at the new High Priest of the Cult."

I nearly jump out of my chair in excitement. "Oh Finn, that's great news!" I can't help myself, so quickly I jump over to where he is sitting and give him a hug. Then I sit back down in my original chair.

To my surprise, Finn laughs at my actions. "Thank you, Holly." Suddenly his face turns from enthusiastic to concerned. "Now tell me truthfully, how are you and your father handling," he gestures to the entirety of the house, "all this?"

I wanted to tell him that life in the new home was bland, boring, that it wasn't at all like I'd expected, and that I didn't like having to walk inside every day and remember that I live in this house because I killed other innocent kids, but I don't. I simply shrug.

"It's fine, but it's also a lot different. It's also quite a bit of space for just two people. It almost gets lonely, but that's okay. Living here is a lot better than being homeless and poor, that's for sure," I pause momentarily and let out a slight laugh, "A year later and I'm still not used to it. That sounds strange, doesn't it?"

"There's always that awkward stage of adjustment," he nods. "Considering where we came from, it's baffling that we haven't gone mad." _We may not have gone mad, but we sure aren't the same people that we were before the arena,_ I think to myself.

"I'm not quite sure that we haven't," I try to joke. "I mean, we did try to defy the Capitol and kill ourselves, leaving them with no Victor."

Finn goes along with it. "Yes, and after that we suddenly became religious figures. Who would've thought?"

"It is quite shocking. I must admit, before the Games, and even during them, I didn't think that I'd ever be as famous as I am now." To my own surprise, the thought makes me smile.

Finn sighs. "I wish I could say the same, but it requires a certain degree of fame to start a revolution after all. Long-term plans are funny that way."

Since we got out of the arena, everything about Finn was focused around this battle and his Cult. Often I wonder if he was like this before the arena.

"You always have things planned out and under control, don't you?"

He smiles, his golden eyes glowing fiercely for a moment. "The Cult does," but then he furrows his brow, "although we might be losing some of our control. I've told you about the new Bene Gesserit schools, haven't I?"

I nod. "Of course. They are to help train young children to fight for the cause."

"More or less. Recently, however, some of our members have been fighting each other rather than for the cause, and we have no idea why."

A look of concern crosses my face as I gasp. "Oh my goodness! Is there anything that I can do to help?"

"Therein lies the reason for my visit. Holly, I want you to infiltrate the new Bene Gesserit schools as a novice and to report back to me."

I stare at Finn, who simply looks at me back, waiting for an answer. It took me a while to answer due to the swirl of questions that were flying through my mind.

"That's a big job! Do you think people would recognize me? I mean, we did win the Hunger Games."

"That's exactly the point. You're 'The Girl Who Lived'! The new Sisters would worship you and the Cult members want to be you. I could ask a stranger if you don't want to, but then there's a good chance I won't get the information I need."

"I don't know, Finn. I want to help you, I really do, but I don't know if they will really tell me anything. If anything, my being there may cause suspicion."

He purses his lips as he thinks about his response. "Perhaps we could spread a rumour that I want you as my protégée?"

"Well, I suppose that could work," I think about the question for a moment, "Fine, I'll do it."

Finn raises his eyebrow. "Are you sure? Keep in mind that this won't just be a standard education. You'll be asked to push your limits nearly every day and there's a good chance you might die during training. You need to really consider this. I wouldn't mind if you slept on it a night and got back to me later."

I sit and fiddle with my thumbs as I think about the question. When I finally am ready to speak, my voice is rough:

"I...I want to do this. If that's what you want me to do to help, then I'll do it. It can't be worse than the Games, can it?"

He smiles as if to reassure me. "No, nothing beats the Games. Very well then!" He stands up. "I'll expect to see you in District 6's Bene Gesserit school in two days. First thing, we'll get you a lovely white woollen cloak," he laughs.

I let out a laugh as he does. "Any plan of yours isn't complete without some type of cloak, is it?"

"Cloaks are my signature accessory," he winks before he heads to the front door. "I wish I could stay longer, but duty calls. I'll see you in two days!"

I watch as Finn walks to the door and leaves. Then I stand up and go to the window. Lifting the curtain, I see him walk down the pathway, his cloak blowing in the wind. As he disappears from my sight, I go and sit back down onto my couch.

 _What did I get myself into?_


	5. Ass-kissers and Bloodsuckers

The car moved agonisingly slow. Clutching the dashboard, I sat in the passenger seat while my driver willed the ancient vehicle to go over 17 mph, a feat not even the Great Mother could accomplish, as it hobbled over the rough terrain. Our car was one of the couple dozen vehicles the Capitol left us, so obviously we got the hand-me-downs.

Even though this soup can on wheels moved slower than a century-old tortoise, the prefab church that was our destination came closer with each bump in the road. In front of the concrete building I could see a group of soldiers standing next to their horses, a contingent of the United Army's cavalry, a welcome addition from District 10.

We conquered District 12 almost immediately, although it sounds rather exaggerated seeing as 12 had no Capitol defenses at all. After District 12 fell into our lap, District 10 was the first territory we had to fight over. But thanks to District 6's proximity to 10 and the new soldiers from 12, it soon yielded and we were hailed as heroes. Next came my procession through the district.

Since I wanted the people of 10 to see me and talk about the cause, I happily obliged when families invited me to stay the night. However, the locals had their own agenda. Coincidentally, the families who invited me all had strapping sons in their late teens who they spoke highly of and who seemed more than a bit interested in me sexually. Whether they really were or were just coerced by their parents, it didn't take me long to realise District 10 was trying to prostitute its young sons to me.

But two could play at that game. I went along and let their families regale me on their sons' prowess, then I told them to send their boys to a certain building in town. Once there, the young men quickly discovered they were being recruited for the United Army and not my bedroom. Families stopped offering me their teenage sons soon after.

Shuddering to a stop, the car arrived at the newly built church. I got out and strode to the riders beside their horses. When they recognised me, the soldiers formed a line and saluted me hollering, "High Priest, sir!"

"At ease, men! Who's in command here?" I asked as the riders tended their horses again.

"First Lieutenant Sparks, sir!" one of the men responded. _Well, isn't that oddly coincidental?_

"And where is the First Lieutenant?"

"Why don't ya turn around and find out?" a man's voice thick with a farmer's accent called from my left. I spun aside and zeroed in on a handsome, tall 19-year-old with a cowboy hat standing on the steps of the church. Ginger ringlets that glistened in the sun like orange gold peered out from under the leather hat, shadowing a pair of luminously green eyes. Tall, brown leather cowboy boots and his thumbs hooked behind an ostentatious belt buckle shaped like a bull's skull completed the cowboy flair of Morris Sparks.

"Hello Morris," I smiled gently.

"Howdy Finn," he tipped his hat before smirking a set of ivory white teeth, a smirk that could rival Ian's.

Morris Sparks was one of the teenage sons District 10 tried to prostitute to me, but who I sent to be enlisted. Unlike some of his peers, he seized the opportunity to serve in the United Army with both hands. Soon he climbed up the ranks and became sergeant. That's when I noticed him, or rather, when he made me notice him during his boisterous raids on the Capitol. And now he's a lieutenant.

"I didn't peg you for a religious man, Morris," I nodded to the prefab church behind him. His green eyes flashed to the concrete building before he shook his head smiling.

"I ain't got nothin' against your Great Mother, High Priest, but it ain't why I'm here." _Who could've guessed?_

"Then pray tell, why are you here?" I asked while I eyed him top to toe. In contrast to Anthony, who always wears the United Army's uniform, Morris only wears a uniform when going into battle. Today he wore a black and blue, striped, flannel shirt that showed just a hint of his muscular pecks and a dark blue pair of jeans.

"Well, a little birdie told me you were arrangin' a meetin' with District 13," he watched me playfully from under his cowboy hat.

"What a knowledgeable little birdie," I smiled while I suppressed the urge to grind my teeth. News travels a little too fast for my taste.

"It sure is! That sweet birdie also told me you were lookin' for two travel companions," he smirked ever so gallantly.

"And you thought you were just the man for the job?" I laughed sweetly while I'd much rather have slit his little birdie's throat.

"Can't deny I was hopin' for it," he shook his head with a pursed, hopeful smile. _Cling onto that hope because I'm taking Mom and Anthony_ , I thought.

 _Why don't you take Morris with you instead of Anthony?_ Embry inquired.

 _Because I want to intimidate District 13 and I can't quite do that without the general of the United Army, now can I?_

 _Anthony is more useful to you on the front line of District 7 than at a boring political meeting. Besides, you may want to keep an eye on Morris_ , she cautioned me.

 _He's only 19 and already a lieutenant; I can't favour him any more or I'll be accused of nepotism!_ Then her last sentence registered. _Wait, why do I need to keep an eye on him?_

 _It's only a hunch, but..._

 _I'm not taking him on a vital political mission because of a hunch..._

 _What good is Other Memory if you won't listen to your ancestor's advice?_ Embry exclaimed. Brooding, she shut up and retreated to the background. Although I didn't want Morris to rise above his station, Embry's suspicion worried me. What had she noticed that I missed?

"Well, I was planning on taking Anthony with me," his hopeful smile faded, "but you may serve me just as well, won't you?"

His eyes sparked eagerly again. "I'll serve ya better than Anthony eva' could, in every way," he added with a teasing purr. He may not really be into me, but Morris always likes to tease me with sexual allusions.

Again, two could play at game! I squeezed his right shoulder playfully as I whispered in his ear, "I'm counting on it."

Soon the new church was crowded with believers. A priest in a poor man's gold robes (they were really a faded, stained yellow) led the service, while Morris Sparks, one of his soldiers, and I sat on the front row. Morris' other soldiers guarded the exits and my driver was servicing our car, which seemed like an exercise in futility to me.

Whereas the church's exterior was bland concrete, the interior had been carefully designed and decorated. On each side of the altar at the front of the church, a column rose to the ceiling sculpted like Ian on the left and myself on the right. Our stone arms were extended upward along an arch, met above the altar and held hands.

Holly had her own little alcove as the Girl Who Lived at the back of the church. Behind the altar, a long, plum-coloured stained-glass window framed an Atlas moth and a Tracker Jacker, combatant. More combatant Atlas moths and Tracker Jackers decorated the rest of the church: a gold sigil on the altar, banners throughout the building, on the priest's robes, woodcarvings, ornaments, etc.

The other stained-glass windows that lined the church all framed a fallen tribute from my Hunger Games. The ones portraying Delancy (the fiery girl from 7, who came in third), Vexare (the bleach blonde from 12, who was my friend) and Puro (the stud from 10, who I killed first) were especially hard to look at.

The service itself passed me by entirely because I journeyed through my Other Memory; it seemed more useful to pass my time that way than listen to a middle-aged man praise the Great Mother. I only came here because the priest requested my presence and because the fires of religion needed to be stirred. Though, I'd rather the energy of said fires were averted to the war effort and not churches.

However, my mental journeys were interrupted when Morris nudged me near the end of the ceremony. Dazed, I gazed at him and raised an eyebrow.

"The priest asked you to say a few words," he whispered in my ear. I smiled and nodded as I rose from the bench, my cloak trailing behind me. Behind the altar I peered over the heads of the churchgoers with my piercing golden eyes.

"It warms my heart to see so many people have found the Great Mother in their time of need. I can't begin to express the joy and gratitude I feel because of your faith in Her. But the Great Mother requires more than churches and prayer!" I bellowed, silencing the church. "We're at war, my brothers and sisters. This is no time for silent prayer, but for decisive action!

The Great Mother wants you...you...you...and you," I pointed at individual worshippers. "She wants all of you...to support the war effort. Her glory shall not prevail until the evildoers – the monsters from the Capitol – have been vanquished! She will not rest until the dictators form the Capitol have paid the price for their evil. So join me today, brothers and sisters, in our fight against tyranny! Praise the Great Mother!"

The congregation rose from their benches and cheered for their goddess. The rumble of their cries and applause was deafening within the small church. I grinned and descended from the altar. I strode victoriously through the aisle to the church doors as men, women and children reached out to touch me. Morris Sparks and his contingent struggled behind me past the believers. I was on my way to the car when Morris called from behind me:

"Finn, wouldn't ya rather go on horseback than that ole scrap metal?"

I turned around and inspected the horses, which were in great shape considering they were also hand-me-downs like the car. At an average speed of 25 mph, a horse would definitely get me quicker to my next destination than that wreck I dare call a car. Also, I've always wanted to ride a horse.

My cloak majestically streamed behind me as the blood bay I was mounted on galloped fiercely. Its hoofs clanked rhythmically on the cobblestones of the streets of District 6. The wind gushing through my hair, against my face and past my body energised me while my chocolate-coloured horse soldiered on. My ancestors who had rode horses during their lifetime felt nostalgic, whereas the others felt exhilarated by the new experience.

When my blood bay and I arrived at the research facility, I sat deep into the saddle and gave the 'halt' command Morris taught me. My horse slowed down and eventually stopped in front of the large hangar. I dismounted and flung the reins in the hands of the first person I saw.

"Watch my horse, will you?" I told a baffled researcher as I entered the steel hangar. Inside, it smelt of oil, chlorine, medicine, and blood. Just like the church's exterior had revealed nothing of the interior, the hangar looked so differently from the inside.

The hangar was sanitised top to bottom and seemed to emit a bright white hue from basically everywhere. Its floor consisted of small, rectangular, white tiles that were so clean you'd think dust didn't exist within the confines of the hangar. Research wings were separated by walls of plastic while doctors walked around in them in disposable paper outfits in all the colours of the rainbow.

Near the entrance of one of the plastic wings, a 68-year-old researcher who leaned heavily on an Afromosia wooden cane awaited me. Dressed in a white lab coat, Dr. Quintillus Peck looked all the more like a modern Colonel Sanders. A Capitol scientist turned rebel, Dr. Peck has a round, wrinkled face, neatly combed white hair, a trimmed, white mustache and a thick, white goatee. Ever smiling, Dr. Quintillus sports a large pair of glasses with a thick, black rim.

"High Priest," he bowed his head in reverence, "your visit honours us."

"Dr. Peck, the honour is all mine," I shook his free hand. "I was informed of the new drug you found?"

"Aah, yes, the new drug for the Reverend Mothers! If you would follow me," he pointed to the plastic door of the research wing with his cane. After entering a code, Dr. Quintillus hobbled through the antiseptic wing as he led the way to a closed off room. The high-quality sterility of the research hangar was all thanks to Dr. Peck's rigid experience with Capitol laboratories.

"If I may ask, what elements is this drug composed of?" I asked as the good doctor typed in another code.

"As you may recall, we tried to recreate the Atlas moth's venom from other insects, but when that proved impossible, we went the herbal route," he explained as he entered the room. _Herbal, oh goodie!_ "We prepared this drug from a dilution of nightlock berries, Tracker Jacker venom and a drop of morphling to slow the nightlock, amongst other things."

 _Amongst other things._ Nightlock bears dark purple berries that are so incredibly poisonous they kill seconds after ingestion. But unfortunately for our cause, no Atlas moths live in the districts and it seems even the Capitol had to pull strings to place one within the Hunger Games arena. Just goes to show you how determined they were to kill me. It doesn't bring us closer to Reverend Mothers, though.

 _If you had paid attention to my memories,_ _you wouldn't have to deal with this trail-and-error and_ _you'd know an easy way to create them_ , Embry rang within my thoughts. In the old days of the Bene Gesserit, the Sisterhood had a foolproof method of creating Reverend Mothers: vampire dust.

 _Sure, Embry, and where do you suppose I find vampires?_ I retorted. _You do remember there's been a nuclear disaster?_ Meanwhile, a woman who had been in deep concentration before Quintillus and I entered the room now stood confidently in front of us.

"Good afternoon, High Priest," the 30-something-year-old nodded. "My name's Marie Dyson and..."

I raised my hand. "No need for introductions, Sister Dyson, I know all about you."

I observed the female Cult member, who was dressed entirely in black. _The colour of death._ Her black cloak seemed well-kept and her composure radiated confidence. Dr. Peck's first test subjects for his Reverend Mother trials were the Cult tributes who would've come after me if I had died. When we 'ran out of' them, we turned to the second best of previous generations. Marie Dyson is one of them.

"Then you'll know I won't disappoint you, High Priest," Sister Dyson assured me with fanatical persuasiveness. _We'll see_ , I thought cautiously.

Next, Dr. Quintillus led Marie and I through a long, silent, grey hallway that ended at a thick metal door. On one side of the hallway, you could see through a wide glass window. I stopped at it and tugged at Marie's elbow, so she would notice the room behind the glass. She gasped.

"Take a good, long look, Marie, because those are the Sisters that went before you," I told her while I studied her frightened expression. She leaned against the glass and stared at the patients within the sterilised room.

All of them dressed in black, the four young women were in various states of insanity. One of them lay still on a hospital bed, a spittle glistening in the corner of her mouth, as she stared at the ceiling. Another sat in the fetal position while she slowly bumped her head against a wall. The two others sat in wheelchairs, one of them rambling off a constant string of useless facts.

"Are those the ones who failed?" Marie swallowed nervously.

"They're the ones who survived," I replied coldly. _I can't say they were lucky._ The regular tapping of Dr. Peck's cane brought my attention back to Marie's impending Agony. I took the woman by the shoulder and guided her through the metal door.

Moments later, Sister Marie Dyson was strapped to an operating table, bound at the wrists and feet. Her eyes were closed and her breathing steady; she was preparing for the Agony. After my last words of advice, I retreated to a chair near the metal door we came through. Dr. Quintillus Peck and a small medical team of nurses and doctors were going over the procedure one last time.

 _No matter how prepared your Sister or experts are, it all depends on your Sister's inner strength_ , Embry explained in my mind. Marie seemed confident; she might be the one.

 _She might also die a horrifying death_ , Embry countered. _Or end up like those vegetables in the other room._ I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer to the Great Mother.

 _If she fails, let her suffering end quickly, I beg of you!_

 _There's still another way, Finn_ , Embry tried to convince me. _Nuclear disaster or not, those filthy bloodsuckers are a persistent bunch if I've ever seen one._

 _The Cult and Panem are already trusting on blind faith to believe in Reverend Mothers. How far would you like me to push them?_

 _You don't have to tell them about vampires. Use your religious sway to convince them they're bloodsucking mutts from the Capitol. They might believe that, won't they?_

While I mulled that over, Dr. Quintillus nodded to me to let me know he was ready. _May the Great Mother guide him justly_ , the council had said. I hoped that I knew what I was doing as Dr. Peck jabbed Marie's arm with a syringe. She drew in a deep breath as he injected the eggplant-coloured drug.

 _A solution of vampire dust is fuchsia_ , Embry noted. _Eggplant might be close enough._

 _I pray to the Great Mother it is because I can't convince the districts that pale bloodsuckers with skin as hard and as cold as diamonds exist and that they're the magical key to Reverend Mothers._

The ECG that monitored Marie's heart rate beeped steadily. Her breathing stayed normal. The medical team was not alarmed. I allowed myself to become hopeful this drug would work...until the spasms started.

At 5.43PM, after two hours of non-stop screaming, Sister Marie Dyson died of cardiac arrest. Dr. Quintillus Peck continued his drug research an hour later.


	6. The Spy

**A.N.: This chapter was written by PotterOwl on Wattpad**

 **POV Holly**

I sit quietly on the end of my bed, staring at the open closet across from me. The only article of clothing that still remains is a long, white, woolen cloak. The signature cloak of the Bene Gesserit school, where I would soon be going.

It had been two days since my friend Finn Hartman visited me and asked me to perform this task. To enter the schools, pretending that I am trying to become his protégée in the hopes of getting information for him. Although it's a daunting task, and could potentially be dangerous, I agreed to do it.

Slowly I get up and walk to the closet. I grasp the soft fabric before sliding it off of the hanger and swinging it around my body, putting it on. I grab my suitcase before walking down the stairs.

My father stands at the door with a small platter of cookies. Without thinking I run up and hug him. "Father! I'm going to miss you. If I can, I'll visit back as much as possible."

"Holly, do not worry, I will be fine, but you, you need all the luck in the world. But I have a surprise for you before you go," there is a small pause as I pull back and look at him.

"What do you mean surprise?" I can tell that my face mimics the confusion that I feel. Then, a small squeal sounds from behind me.

I turn to see none other than my friend Jasmine. "You didn't think I'd let you just leave without being here to say goodbye, did you?" she says as she runs and hugs me.

"I can't believe you're here! Thank you," I turn to look at my father, "both of you."

A small knock interrupts the celebration. My father turns and opens the large door. "I'm here to pick up Miss Jones and take her to the Bene Gesserit school." My father gestures for the voice to walk inside, and that's when we see him. A large and well-built man with sandy blonde curls steps inside. He wears the traditional Cult uniform and has rough brown eyes to match it. "If you want, I can take your bag, Miss Jones."

I smile falsely before handing him my suitcase. "Before you take me to the school, may I ask your name? If I need to address you, I do not want to simply call you sir."

He doesn't answer me right away, but the silence draws out his answer. "My name is Ender. Now, we must get going. The Headmistress is waiting for you up at the school."

With one more quick hug I walk out the door and towards the old, brown jeep. My suitcase is visible in the back seat and the man with sandy curls is holding the door open for me. As I get in, I nod to him as a sign of thanks. I may be a Cult member, but I still believe that it's good to be polite.

The door slams shut after me. The tinted windows nearly block out the sight of the house. With a loud growl the jeep takes off. Although it's not very fast, it's enough to make the figures of my father and Jasmine fade into the distance.

The ride is nearly silent. The only noises are the ones coming from the streets outside. Although it's hard to see, I can guess that we have gone off of the paved roads and onto the gravel roads on the outskirts of town. The occasional rustle of leaves told me that we were near the forest.

Suddenly, Ender slams on the breaks. The sudden stop causes me to smack my head on the back of the passenger's seat.

"Sorry about that, Miss Jones."

Ender exits the vehicle before coming around and opening my door. I grab the handle on my suitcase before walking outside.

"Thank you, Ender," I nod to him again before turning to look at the building.

The school building was made of large white stones. Compared to the complex buildings of the Victor's Village, the building looks simple, but just as luxurious. The building was swarmed with girls in long white cloaks, identical to mine. Their ages and appearances, to my surprise, are quite different. I expected for the girls to be very muscular and strong like the tributes from the Career districts. Luckily, not all of them are.

As Ender and I walk up to the school, only a few of the students noticed me, but I'm not sure that anyone knew it was me seeing as my cloak's hood is up. I push open the door to reveal the shining walls and rooms of the school.

Even more students fluttered around inside the building. Remembering why I am here, I pull down my hood, revealing who I am. Maybe if the students were to see me strutting in, they may respect me, just like Finn said. To my surprise, I hear a couple murmurs from the girls.

Ender leads me to a large room where an older woman sits behind a desk. Her hair is nearly all white and her body is hunched over. The dress she wore was a deep gray that complimented the deep black cloak.

"Ah, Holly Jones, what a great honor it is to meet you," her voice was strong, but you could tell that she was getting older. "The Bene Gesserit School welcomes you. I am the headmistress of this school, proctor Pembroke."

I smile. "Good evening, proctor Pembroke. I'm very excited to be joining your school and learning more about the ways of the Great Mother."

She smirks, similarly to the way Finn does. "Well, I don't want to keep you from learning," she hands me a small stack of papers and a couple different books, "These are your class books, class schedule, and a list of school rules, information, and a map of the building." And then, she hands me a small brass key. "This is the key to your room. I expect you to go there now and become acquainted with some other students. Your classes won't start until tomorrow, so be ready."

I bow my head to her, trying my hardest not to drop the materials. "Thank you, Ma'am." All she does is nod back, excusing me.

The engraving on the key is room number twenty-one. Assuming that it's my room number I peer at the map, attempting to locate it.

"Hey Ender, thanks for taking me here. Go report back to Finn or whatever you have to do now. I think I can handle it from here." Before walking away, I flash a smile and take a look at the map one last time.

Room twenty-one was only down the next hallway. The numbers two and one were on the door in large golden letters. I place the key in the lock and push the door open.

The room had three different sets of bunk beds, all but one bed is covered with sheets and has different personal items. Over to the right five other girls are sitting on the floor. Every one of them looks up at me as I enter the room. To break the silence, I begin to speak, "Hey. I'm Holly Jones. I'm your new roommate."

One girl who looks about two years younger than I speaks up, "We know who you are. Everyone knows who you are. A second person surviving the Hunger Games isn't exactly easy to ignore. I'm Havana by the way." Havana smiles at me, her blonde hair swaying as she does.

A girl with darker skin is the next to speak. "I'm Tana. Unlike Havana and Onyx I am new to the Sisterhood, just like you. By the way, I'm a big fan."

I smile as to seem honored for being praised. "Who exactly is Onyx?" I ask, realizing that she mentioned another person.

"I am," a smaller girl with jet black hair at least a meter long says. "I've been training in the Cult since birth, just like a lot of the others."

"And, who are you guys?" I turn to look at the two remaining girls in the room. One of the girls had bright cinnamon hair that was shaved on the left side, but about shoulder length on the right. She also had freckles spreading across the bridge of her nose. The other girl, I could tell, was of Asian heritage, but she has dyed her dark black hair to a navy color.

The one with cinnamon hair basically squealed an answer, "Cheyenne and this is Katana, but everyone just calls her Kat!"

I smile again, overwhelmed by Cheyenne's surprising energy. "It's nice to meet you all. Do you mind if I sit?"

"No, not at all," Havana answers. She must be the 'leader' of this room. I better not cross her.

"So, what's it like here at the Bene Gesserit schools? Anything interesting happening?" hoping to figure something out for Finn, I sneak in a question that could give me an answer. To no surprise, Cheyenne is the one to answer:

"Oh, it's great here at Bene. It's a fun way to make friends, learn, and still help out in the war against the Capitol. Say, speaking of the Capitol, why don't you tell us about the Games? About what happened after the Games!"

"There isn't much about my life that you don't know. The Games were broadcast Live throughout all of Panem. As for after the Games, I had the victory tour and that's about it. Now I'm here."

"So," Onyx says quizzically, "Finn hasn't kept you in the loop with the plans? Or do you even speak to Finn now?"

"Well, Finn has been pretty busy with planning the war, but he has come to me to talk about it a couple times before," to refrain from telling them anything about some of the plans I stray away from the subject, "Actually, I am here because Finn asked me to be his protégée. Promise me that you can keep a secret," each of the girls nods in response, "Well, Finn is looking for some new advisors and such, and he wants them to be from the school. To get a younger person's perspective. So, he asked me, while I was here, if I could be on the lookout for those who deserve it."

Although it's a lie, it gets the girls' attention. Even Onyx, Havana, and Tana seem interested.

Suddenly, the voice of proctor Pembroke sounds over the speaker system. "Attention students, we are now entering the night hours. Return to your dormitories at once." With a loud crack the speaker shuts off.

Havana stands up and is surprisingly short. "Okay guys, lights out. Get in bed, now. We have class tomorrow," she turns and looks at me, "That goes for you too, Holly. You're going to need your rest, trust me. It's not the Games, but it's a lot of work. Sheets are in the totes under your bed." She turns off her lamp and goes into her bed just like everyone else.

Taking her advice I grab some sheets and a pillow from the tote under my bed. Sprawling the sheets across the bed I can't help but think about the school. For something being suspicious or wrong here there seems to be a lot of order and everyone listens. _Oh well,_ I think, _I shouldn't worry about this now. Just focus on the mission and helping Finn, and nothing can go wrong. Or can it?_


	7. Negotiations

The artificial lighting was hard to get used to. Built as an underground facility, District 13 can't rely on the sun to illuminate its quarters. Massive numbers of light bulbs and fluorescent tubes hang from the ceilings and walls of the subterranean district and supply its people in their need for visibility. _Their energy demand must be through the roof. Where are they getting that kind of power?_ I wondered.

 _A complex of this size and capacity will have its own generator, or power plant even_ , one of my ancestors from District 5 reasoned. _However, that requires a specialised infrastructure and remarkable organisational skills._

 _If they can sustain an air force and nuclear bombs, I bet a power plant won't be too hard to manage_ , I argued. I looked around the conference room we had been led into. A multitude of flickering screens lined the walls, showing combat footage, the Capitol News channel, public announcements for 13, and interchanging maps of various districts.

"Mother, what do you think?" I signed to her in the secret battlefield language of the Cult. She had been observing the room from the moment we entered it.

"Intimidation, I assume," she responded in fluttering signs of her hands. "They want us to know they're well-informed and well-organised." _Again 13's talent for organisation_ , I mused. Then I suppressed a chuckle. It's funny how they're trying to intimidate us, while we're trying to intimidate them.

After all, I hadn't brought Morris Sparks and Mom with me for their company. I was not here as High Priest of the Cult and Bene Gesserit, but as Finn Hartman, the Great Mother's chosen one, the districts' religious leader. Mother represented my position as High Priest and Morris my power as supreme commander of the United Army. Thus our delegation sent out a fair warning: _Cross us and deal with religious fanatics, skilled spies, and obedient soldiers._

"Them moles are sure takin' their time," Morris muttered as he paced across the room, his hands in his pockets. We had arrived two hours ago and we'd spent at least one of them in this room by ourselves.

Clad in his official uniform as First Lieutenant, Morris was buttoned up in a navy blue vest with narrow, grey, metal rectangles attached on each shoulder to signify his rank. Instead of his regular cowboy hat, a black army barrette now covered his ginger ringlets, the sigil of District 10 clearly visible at the front.

"Patience, Morris," I urged him kindly. "District 13 is an industrious place. President Coin must've been held up somewhere. I'm sure she'll have a valid reason for her delay." _Aside from agitating and observing us like scientists toying with lab rats._ President Alma Coin is District 13's female version of President Snow, though I hope she's less sadistic.

"She better get here soon then. I know nicer ways to spend an hour in a room," he said, leaning back a bit in an angle that drew attention to his loins. The mischievous look in his green eyes gave away that he was teasing me again.

"Hmm, and which ways would that be?" I smiled alluringly as I eyed him top to toe with my golden gaze. My gold-in-gold eyes had an enticing effect on Morris I had noticed. Not just on Morris, to be honest.

"Oh, I know plenty. Tho', it always depends on who I'm spendin' that hour with. Just a companion, or a long-time acquaintance, or someone special," he smirked charmingly, flashing a set of pearly white teeth. The light in the room hit his luminously green pupils just right to spark a mesmerising glint in his eyes.

"You don't like going into detail, do you?" I raised an eyebrow grinning.

"Now, Finn, that ain't the kind of topic to discuss with a lady in the room," he nodded his head towards my stoic mother, standing in front of one of the screens.

"Why did you bring _him_ along?" she signed to me. "If Anthony were here, he would've made sure Coin met us on time."

I can't argue with that. A 6-feet giant with the muscle strength of a boa constrictor would scare anyone to punctuality. Not to mention his function as general of the United Army. Yet Embry cautioned me to keep an eye on Morris and advised me to take him with me, so who am I to question my Other Memory?

"Anthony will serve me better at the front line of District 7," I signed back, more to convince myself than her.

"The front line has hit a stalemate, hence our visit here. You brought Morris along for a different reason." _Ah, nothing ever gets past you, does it?_ I thought, comforted by the knowledge that Mom's observational skills were still razor-sharp.

 _Or_ , Mom's teenage self offered, _I just miss my gorilla in shining armour._

I shuddered. _Don't remind me of your...her...Mom's 'secret' love affair with my former Hunger Games mentor._

 _Oh, why can't you just be happy for me? If your memory serves me right, I haven't had a boyfriend since you were born._

 _That I know of_ , I added. I still needed to reassure my mother though, so I signed:

"There's indeed a different reason, which I'll let you know in due time...but not now."

Just in time to stop Mom's heated response, President Alma Coin marched into the room followed by a soldier, either her lackey or her right hand. Alma Coin is a 50-year-old woman with grey hair that falls to her shoulders in an uninterrupted wave. Her pale grey eyes look dull and empty as if their owner doesn't know what happiness and love are.

"I apologise for the wait, but an urgent matter required my attention," President Coin said with no noticeable intonation, nor interest. She sat down at the steel table I was already seated at and the soldier handed her a brown binder before retreating to stand in front of a wall. _Lackey, it is._ Coin opened the binder and flipped a few pages, paying us no mind.

"I understand, Madame President. It's tough running a district, especially during war," I stressed the last part. She looked up from her pages and gazed at me with an even expression before letting her eyes wander to Morris and Mom, standing at different ends of the room.

"We are not at war, Mr. Hartman. Your rebellion is not our concern, which is why we must turn down your request for aerial support," she explained in that same emotionless and monotonous tone.

"Are ya kiddin' me?" Morris yelled. He charged the steel table from across the room, put his hands flat on the metallic surface and looked just about ready to jump on the tabletop to snag the binder from under Coin's nose. Before he could do anything stupid, I placed a hand on one of his arms.

"Lieutenant Sparks, calm down," I addressed him by his official title to remind him of his responsibilities and used just a hint of the Voice to ease his nerves. "We cannot blame the President for trying to keep her people out of a war they didn't start."

Morris' cynical expression showed what we were all thinking: _No, District 13 would rather hide underground and wait this rebellion out._ Yet Coin gladly hitched her refusal on my explanation:

"Exactly, this is not our war. This is between the Capitol and the twelve districts. We found out the hard way what dealing with the Capitol gets you a long time ago."

"Yes, self-government and democracy are such heavy burdens," Mother said in an even tone that could rival Coin's frigidness. It gave me the chills. Even Coin seemed to shudder at Mom's icy sneer.

"We won't deny the few benefits we were granted, but they were part of a deal. If either 13 or the Capitol threatened one another with nuclear weapons, the other would retaliate with swift and equal measures. Thus we cannot provoke the Capitol," the President of District 13 concluded as if that put an end to the discussion.

"And thus you remain a slave to the Capitol's tyranny," I retorted with a slight grin. Morris snickered smugly as he crossed his arms and Mother also seemed pleased with my reply, even though her expression and composure stayed neutral.

"Why should we help you?" Coin asked eventually, at last considering joining us in the rebellion.

"Because what we can do to the Capitol, we can do to you too," I replied calmly. "In a couple of years, hopefully sooner, when we've conquered all the districts and taken over the Capitol, I'll guarantee you we'll turn to 13 next and finish what the Capitol started 75 years ago. Especially when the districts are convinced you cowered beneath the earth in your tunnels like a bunch of opportunistic maggots."

"You feel confident about your cause."

"A certain degree of confidence is necessary during war."

"So is caution," she remarked. "Forgive me, but your threat sounds idle. After all, you've come here to beg..."

"The High Priest doesn't beg," Mom interrupted coolly. Coin regarded her, shifted in her seat and rephrased:

"You came and _asked_ for our help. You wouldn't have if you could defeat the Capitol by yourselves."

"And you wouldn't have offered humanitarian aid to the freed districts if you lot didn't think our rebellion stood a chance," Morris countered, surprising all of us with his keen insight. Mother observed him with new eyes and concluded he was far more intelligent than he looked. Embry had come to that same conclusion the first time she saw him.

"We were hopeful," Coin admitted.

Morris smirked. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend, ain't that what they say?"

Intertwining her fingers, she shielded her mouth with her hands as she considered 13's options. Pleased, I signed to Mother:

"I told you there was a reason for Morris' presence. Still think Anthony would have done better?"

"Fine. Morris served his purpose, but there's more to him than meets the eye," she signed back suspiciously.

 _I'm glad someone finally agrees_ , Embry chimed in my thoughts.


	8. The Assassin

**POV the Assassin**

I winced when I woke up. Hangovers and splitting migraines were becoming part of my morning routine. Faint beams of light showed me where I had thrown down my clothes and shoes the other night. Barely controlling the urge to barf up the remainder of last night's alcohol, I slowly got dressed.

I opened the worn-out curtains and winced again as sunlight hit my eyes. When they had adjusted, I could see the wall the Peacekeepers had made us pull up around 7's city centre. Clad in their white uniforms, the Capitol's armed forces patrolled the wooden barricade.

But they are tired, hungry, and afraid. They've been defending that sixteen-feet high wall of logs for weeks with little to show for. Sure the United Army can't come in, but neither the Peacekeepers, nor us, can get out as well. The only way in or out is by hovercraft and none has landed for several days.

I plodded down the stairs, the steps creaking each time. I went to the kitchen and brewed my morning coffee hoping to cure my hangover. It never does, though. While I waited for the coffee, I took out my wallet and fished for my most precious possession: her picture.

I can't keep count how many times I've looked at this same picture since she...went away. _Don't lie to yourself, fool. She didn't go away, she died_ , I reminded myself. Feeling the tears well up, I brought her picture closer to my face and studied those familiar and beloved features. It was hard to still make them out, though. I've stared at and cried over this picture for so many times it was all wrinkled and faded.

But I will never forget my little girl, no matter how flaky her picture gets. She was so innocent still. She wanted to make her mother and I so proud of her that she completely neglected her own social life. She spent her days swimming with my wife and her nights axe throwing with me. For as far as I knew, she only had one friend in her whole life.

 _You can do this, Lancy. I know you can_ , I told her when I last saw her. She had been sobbing into my shoulder and I wanted to comfort her so badly. Her mother had just stood there smirking, overjoyed that her daughter had volunteered for the Hunger Games. That's when Lancy had punched her in the nose.

The coffee was ready. I poured myself a cup and sat at my usual spot at the right side of the dining table. I sipped from my cup and felt warmer, but the warmth couldn't make me forget the pain inside. My baby girl...she used to sit across from me at this very table. Her mother always made her hurry, though, so they could go to the beach of District 4 (my wife's home district) for swim practice.

I took one last look at her wrinkly picture and downed the leftover of my coffee. I then walked to the front door, loud creaks of the floorboards following me where I went, and escaped outside. Too many memories haunted me in this place.

I zigzagged through the alleys of 7, careful as not to bump into a Peacekeeper. Lately they had started to mug people just to see if they carried any food on them. Food has been scarce for weeks and the rations we get hardly fill our empty stomachs. We were all starving, Peacekeeper and citizen alike.

The alleys all ended up at the Justice Building, dead centre of District 7. In front of it, gallows had been erected. Four corpses in various states of decay swung idly from their nooses. Their clothes were no more than threads loosely wound about their body. Their eyes, ears, nose, lips, and other soft tissue had been pecked off by crows. They were the only ones in 7 not starving.

"Idiots," I grumbled as I looked at their rotten flesh and exposed bones. They were all caught praising the Great Mother, that new deity from Finn Hartman's cult. Even here, shut off from the outside world, that queer had managed to spread his religious delusions.

Almost every day you'll hear someone calling for the Great Mother or Finn Hartman himself. _They're all idiots._ That psychopathic butt pirate can't hear their prayers and he sure doesn't care about them. All he wants is death and destruction. That monster killed my little girl!

* * *

It was noon when I had wandered all the way to the wall of logs that surrounded the city. It was an astonishing feat considering we had built this wooden barricade at gunpoint. The Peacekeepers had made us chop down almost an entire forest and carry the logs on our shoulders. Within a few days the wall was sixteen feet high and ten feet thick.

But after it was put in place, we couldn't go into the forests to hunt or get firewood. We had sealed ourselves in. Hovercrafts supplied us regularly the first few weeks, but when the United Army started shooting the airships instead of the guards on the wall, our supply chain just about collapsed.

I was already alone by then. My wife had left me and returned to 4 not long after our daughter died in the Hunger Games. She cried for days on end, blubbering how she shouldn't have forced her child to volunteer. She blamed herself for what happened to our baby girl, but I blamed Finn Hartman. He led her to her doom.

A Peacekeeper shouted something from atop the wall. I didn't catch it, but then I heard another Peacekeeper shout the same thing a little further away:

"Hovercrafts!"

It was as if someone had disturbed an anthill of white, armoured ants carrying automatic rifles on their backs. Peacekeepers from all over District 7 swarmed the wall of logs to see the incoming hovercrafts. The citizens of 7 left their homes too to see the airships that promised new supplies.

It was an entire fleet of humming hovercrafts that flew towards us. People started cheering and the Peacekeepers on the wall prepared to shoot soldiers of the United Army to keep them from crashing the airships. But the United Army didn't aim for any of the hovercrafts, neither did the ships themselves attack our enemy.

Instead, they opened their cargo hatches and released their loads. Torpedoes drilled their way into the wall of logs and shattered it when they exploded. The Peacekeepers on the barricade didn't get a chance to react: they were blown to bits or shredded to pulp by shrapnel or wood splinters. The people who stood too close to the wall were slung against nearby buildings and died or broke nearly all their bones.

Fire and blood reigned the once impressive wall of logs. The bombs of the hovercrafts had tore through it like a toddler snapping a twig in half. All around the city centre of District 7, explosions went off and pulverised the logs that were meant to protect us. People cried and screamed, and Peacekeepers ran, shouted, and shot whatever moved on the other side of the barricade.

Another wave of hovercrafts flew over the wall, but this time they released gallons of water. They were putting out the fires they had started. It seemed unreal, too illogical. _Why would they bomb us first, then keep the fire from spreading?_

My question was soon answered. Where bombs had hit and fire had now died down, soldiers from the United Army started pouring through. A massive man with arms the size of tree trunks seemed to lead them on. _Anthony Kingston, Finn Hartman's general and former mentor_ , I realised.

Any Peacekeeper that crossed General Kingston's path paid for it with his life. Soon the soldiers of the United Army moved away from the wall of logs and started hunting down the Peacekeepers who hadn't swarmed the barricade earlier. The people of 7 made sure to say away from either side of the fight.

When someone bumped into me, I snapped back to my own situation. I had stared at the explosions and fights, not caring about my wellbeing. Now I looked down at myself and saw blood stains on my clothes. I felt small pangs of pain where splinters had cut me, but I didn't seem as hurt as the blood made me believe. _It must be someone else's blood_ , I thought, relieved yet confused.

I started wandering through the district again and stumbled upon a Peacekeeper clutching his rifle who was still alive. He looked in bad shape, though. Someone had shot him in the shoulder and twice in the gut and left him to die. Burns covered his face too as he had lost his white helmet.

When he saw me, he grabbed my ankle and tugged at my trousers. He spat blood in an attempt to tell me something and eventually just threw his rifle in front of my feet. He pointed at the gun, then to me and to himself. I immediately understood what he wanted. I picked up the rifle and aimed for his head. A quick death.

But then I noticed the colour of his hair: a fiery red, so lively...and familiar. It reminded me of my daughter and made me look at the Peacekeeper more closely. He seemed too young to be in the army. If my little girl was born a boy, this kid could've been my son.

I couldn't do what he asked me to do, not when he looked so similar to my daughter. Though he didn't resemble her at all, the similarities struck me too hard. I dropped the rifle and ran.

* * *

By nightfall the United Army had conquered District 7. The wall of logs, scorched black, lay smouldering at the edge of the city centre. Corpses of Peacekeepers and citizens who had been at the wrong place at the wrong time lined the streets. Peacekeepers who had surrendered were locked up in the Justice Building.

Finn Hartman's banner of a combatant Atlas moth and Tracker Jacker streamed from the rooftops of several buildings. Soldiers from the United Army now patrolled the alleys and District 13, which had sent the hovercrafts, brought in food and other supplies.

Dressed in black and my face hidden beneath a cap, I sprinted through the city. I knocked three short times on a pine wooden door, a mockingjay carved into it. The door quietly swung open and I went inside the old house. The floorboards creaked loudly at every step I took as if they knew my plan and wanted to alarm the soldiers.

A shady fellow that eerily reminded me of a rat stopped me from going any further. A cigarette clung to one corner of his mouth as he spoke:

"Whatcha want?"

"I was told you could send out a message," I asked hesitantly.

"What about it?" he asked suspiciously, inhaling on his cigarette.

"Can you also get a message to someone important?"

"Depends on who you consider important. Since 7 is under new management, you might need someone entirely different," he said, flicking the ashes of his cigarette on the floor.

"I want to contact President Snow," I blurted. The shady fellow looked me in the eyes before nodding and inhaling on his cigarette again.

"That can be arranged. Whatcha want the good ole President to hear?"

"Tell Snow that I...that _the Assassin_ is offering to take care of our mutual enemy."


	9. Fear and Paranoia in the Capitol

**POV President Snow**

The traitor died the way he'd lived: a fool. He started crying as soon as he stepped on the gallows. When the Peacekeeper executioner tied the noose around his neck, the former Gamemaker whimpered and begged. Tears, blood, and snot dribbled down his swollen, beat-up face in an unsanitary mess.

The former Gamemaker had been accused of negligence during the Hunger Games by letting Finn Hartman carry his blasted gom jabbar (the poisonous needle hidden in a silver snake around his finger) into the arena. It had been his responsibility to check the tributes' tokens for hidden weapons and he had obviously failed. His meek defense had been that the silver of the gom jabbar had masked the poisonous needle inside.

However, the prosecutor had argued that, as the Gamemaker in charge, he should've checked every possible way to handle the silver coiling finger weapon, because clearly, Finn Hartman knew a simple way to activate it. Consequently, the court marshals had found him guilty and had sentenced him to death. _Not that I would've allowed a different ruling._

"Please!" the traitor pleaded. "I wasn't my fault! Please, don't kill me!" he begged. "I have a wife and two kids in college! They need me, you can't do this to them!" he blubbered. "I don't deserve this, I'm innocent!" he sobbed.

Then the executioner pulled the lever and the lamenting stopped. It took the weakling another 10 minutes, though, to stop breathing and twitching. In that time, his gurgling could be heard all the way from my spectator's balcony and the stench of him soiling himself wafted in my direction too. _A traitor's life, a traitor's death, and a traitor's revenge_ , I grumbled internally.

When the Peacekeeper had pronounced him dead, the gathered spectators waited in absolute silence for my next move. I rose from my comfortable, cushioned chair and took two steps to the microphone that had been placed in front of me. I held the audience's attention for another 30 seconds until they felt the silent tension was unbearable. Then I spoke into the microphone:

"Dear fellow countrymen and women, we are truly reliving the Dark Days when a Gamemaker conspires with the enemy. It saddens and grieves us that someone so lowly could climb to such incredible heights and neglect to fulfil his duties. This man's indiscretions put an end to our hard fought peace and condemned us to war with our brothers and sisters in the districts."

That evoked some angry mutters and mouthed curses from the audience. _Mmm, I had expected cries and shouting. Am I losing my touch?_ We will have to hold another poll to sound out the people's current opinion on the districts then.

"Finn Hartman's delusions and his rebellion shall not divide us if we all make an effort to strive for peace and unity. It is during these tempestuous times that we must each make a sacrifice for the greater good. If we rely on one another, we increase our strength a tenfold. May the odds be ever in our favor!"

The audience roared and applauded, but I sensed a disturbing undertone. I could see it in the looks the people shot each other and the glances they threw at me. They weren't convinced. Their cheers and applause merely came out of fear, fear that they'd share the traitor's fate.

Good, fear will drive them closer. It will make them remember what they hold dear and make them want to protect their own position. After all, war is such a fickle thing. If Finn Hartman wins, what will his rebellion bring to the Capitol, or more importantly, to the citizens of this city? His early promises of total destruction will make people think twice to support his rebellion.

* * *

Back at my mansion in the City Circle, I enjoyed a quiet lunch. I had a light cucumber and avocado salad, partridge stuffed with its own eggs and garnished with an herbal mix, and small honey biscuits. A deep red wine from District 5 complemented the meal. Coincidentally, the fruity liquor came from a winery owned by the parents of last year's District 5 male. I frowned when my sommelier told me.

Wherever I go, last year's Hunger Games seems to haunt me. Every day I receive reports from Finn Hartman's new religion, his Cult, and the United Army. On top of that, districts cry out the names of last year's fallen tributes and blame me for their deaths. It's a travesty! Hartman killed nearly half of those children, yet it's the Capitol they hold responsible. _Has Panem completely lost its wits?_

But maybe my sommelier told me for a different reason. Maybe he didn't just want to inform me of the (unfortunate) coincidence. Perhaps it was no coincidence at all. What if he's one of these Cult spies Finn warned me about? Could he be sending his spies after me to bully me over last year's Games? Are they watching me this very moment?

 _Remember this, Coriolanus Snow: our Order is everywhere. In every district, in every layer of society, even in your own Peacekeeper guard. Know that we are observing you wherever you go, whoever you associate with, at whichever given time,_ Finn Hartman had told me in his wicked women's voice beneath the Training Center.

A knock came from the door. I placed down my cutlery and straightened up in my chair.

"Enter!" I called. The door swung open and a Peacekeeper strode to me, his helmet underneath his arm. Despite getting a little older, the Peacekeeper seemed in good shape and kept his hair and beard trimmed. Though his eyes were a deep, brown colour, he had an almost sickly pale complexion. ... _even in your own Peacekeeper guard,_ echoed through my thoughts.

"Mr. President, sir!" the Peacekeeper officer saluted.

"What is the nature of your visit, Varinius?" I asked the 40-odd-old Peacekeeper. Varinius Everett is my personal assistant. It used to be a younger woman, but rebel pamphlets were discovered in her private courters, so I 'replaced' her. Varinius has been a Peacekeeper for over 20 years and came from District 2. He had a spotless reputation and his loyalty was undisputed.

"Sir, we have received word from District 7..."

"What is it this time around?" I grunted. "If they're asking for more supplies, tell them to ration their stocks better."

"No sir, they aren't asking for anything...at least not anymore," Varinius mumbled the last part.

"What do you mean?" I asked coolly. I eyed the pale man before me and watched him stiffen as he noticed my gaze. This man, too, was afraid of me. _Better he fear me than wish to kill me, although I don't doubt he wouldn't hesitate to if given the choice._

"The United Army has invaded and successfully conquered District 7," he then answered as straight as a board. _Your empire will crumble, district by district, until nothing is left behind,_ the voice of Hartman's ancestor rang through my head.

"How?" I uttered. District 7 had been surrounded by an impenetrable wall of logs. How did the rebels manage to overcome that? Did the Peacekeepers slack in their watch over the wall? Or did Finn's spies wriggle their way through? _You have no safe haven to hide to,_ the stern woman's voice said again.

"According to our initial reports, they had a squadron of hovercrafts bomb the wall. After it was destroyed, General Kingston led his men through and secured the district."

"Hovercrafts? Hadn't we retreated all our aircraft from the districts, except for the most disheveled ones? How did they get their hands on a _squadron_? Did District 6 build new ones?" If they had, I had severely underestimated the District 6 mechanics. Then again I hadn't expected this rebellion either.

"No, Mr. President, the reports are a bit jumbled up. One tends to contradict the other: one says we bombed it, another says they saw the sigil of District 6, and then there are people that say it was a punishment from the Great Mother."

I scoffed. I had had it with this Great Mother. It would've sufficed if Finn wanted to start a rebellion, but did he have to declare himself a messiah too? I was beginning to think he was no strategic genius, but just a lunatic.

"But the majority of the reports suggest the United Army forged an alliance..."

"An alliance? Who could they possibly have allied with?" No other district had successfully rebelled this week to my knowledge.

"District 13, sir," Varinius nodded solemnly. _You have no secrets for us. We see everything and only need to look at you to know your greatest fears_ , Finn Hartman's witch ancestor declared in my head.

"District 13?" I whispered. It couldn't be! The Capitol and District 13 had a secret pact; they wouldn't break it!

"I'm afraid so, sir." Varinius Everett nodded again.

"District 13," I repeated pensively as I looked at my empty plate. _We will consume your every thought from this day forward. You will not have a moment's rest unless we wish you to_ , the witch called again.

"We also received a different message from 7," Everett piped up. I looked up at him and saw he was smirking an almost evil grin. This man is terrible at hiding his emotions. At least now I knew for sure he was no Cult spy.

"What kind of message? From whom?"

"It came to us through the back channels, via a smuggler. It's from someone who calls himself _the Assassin_."

Assassin, hmm? This could me most interesting. "What does the message say?"

The Peacekeeper looked down at a paper in his hand and read: "The Assassin is offering to take care of our mutual enemy."

I smirked. This could be most interesting indeed. "Our mutual enemy? Who is this 'Assassin', who went to such lengths to contact us in order to kill Finn Hartman?"

"We have no records of this man, sir," Varinius shook his head. "All we have is this message. This could also be a rouse, sir. Someone trying to shake the Capitol for benefits."

"Does the message state anything about payment?"

"No, sir..."

"Then I believe this Assassin could be our way to Hartman's downfall. Send a message back saying we are glad to take up his offer and that he may contact us again if he needs any resources. After all, we wouldn't want to leave our new ally to fetch for his own devices," I chuckled.

"As you wish, Mr. President," Varinius Everett bowed before leaving the way he came. An Avox entered in his place and cleared the table. I then walked over to a window overlooking the City Circle. The Capitol buzzed and bubbled lively around my mansion as it always has. You could hardly tell we were at war.

If this Assassin were to succeed, he could solve all my problems in one swift action. _Your power will slip from your fingers as your hold on the Capitol weakens. Know that this is an inevitable evolution put in motion long before you ever rose to your position_ , Finn Hartman's altered voice taunted me. And if the man were to fail, well, at least he'll have put the fear of God into that parvenu boy. _Let that be your only solace._


End file.
